


if this is kingship

by lucidasidera



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26427031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucidasidera/pseuds/lucidasidera
Summary: If only Tserriednich mentioned how the Kurtan king looks more desirable than the promise of a throne, he would have chosen to die in their encounter that night, instead of standing in the decadent royal palace in Saherta, miles from home, and just a breath away from his enemy whose eyes swore distaste and disgust with every minute he is alive in front of him.
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	if this is kingship

**Author's Note:**

> so i am back again with this ship.... i'm not in the right mind to fix the tags, but i would add more if the need arises. my half-baked mind is losing its touch and i would have to contemplate the details this story will be having..

It was all a lie.

Chrollo understands this and has accepted it with calm ease. It wasn’t grandly difficult- It didn’t take everything in him just to muster up the precise and calculated face of someone whose life has been banished into the depths of grief and nothingness. It shows on his face, or atleast he makes sure that it does, with all the tattered clothes and days-old wounds that help provide the impression that the severity of his capture made him extremely exhausted and fearful to ever resist the two royal guards holding him off.

_“Give me Yorbian, and I’ll give you what you lost.”_

It was all a lie. Chrollo knows better than to trust someone whose heart and mind were practically the same as his- cold and covered in deceit, empathic one second, capable of murder the next. He can remember it all too well- the taste of his blood in his mouth, the knife nicking at the surface of his pale neck, hands slippery with sweat as he grabs the other’s arm in a compromising position.

He would have almost enjoyed the danger of it, the exhilarating moment of guessing if the next breath is still present with every inch of skin the knife dares to touch. It permits the overall surreal thought of being gone in a snap, the few minutes before dying- he had always relished it with his victims, and he would have found amusement in experiencing it by himself then, almost. If only his family is not in the same danger as him.

 _The Troupe_ , he thinks to himself, says it under his breath just like many times before. “ _Nothing is more important than their survival._ ” Chrollo doesn’t consider himself a sentimental man- afterall, he could kill an entire population of children and he wouldn’t feel remorse, or regret anyhow. A deep sense of nostalgia maybe, to the future they no longer have, a purpose they would never find, a love they would not come to curse. It was justa momentary musing, and he would forget their faces, or the manner of their deaths as fast as lightning could strike,

But with the Troupe, _his_ troupe- the people with any semblance of a family to him-, there is something akin to familiarity that breeds his desire to protect them no matter what. His own selfishness could be the probable cause, but if there isn't anything to their bond other than to make a jarring proof- a testimony of sorts about his strength and fortitude -that no one could steal anything from Chrollo not while he is alive, he would still gladly foster it.

“ _If this is how you fight, then it’s just a matter of time before you and I get together, no? Don't you think this would be easier if not alone?"_

As if anything in this rotten world is easy.

The royal guard, a mundane-looking man of average height tugged at his bounds more harshly. The motion made him skid a few steps ahead, the soles of his feet reddening under the asphalt. He licks the inside of his cheeks and found out that his mouth has been dried up than he expected. The half occupied street they are now currently traversing feels saintly than the parched patch of sand he had to deal with for the past hour or so. The transition from extremely brittle air to the accented smell of perfumes and freshly-picked oranges being sold on the few markets they have come across feels unnerving. Chrollo has been trained by both circumstance and experience to endure the worst conditions, but walking openly around the royal capital presents newfound tension he did not consider until he found himself gritting his teeth in mild discomfort. They passed by another round of small taverns, and wooden carts going to and fro in every direction- signifying they are getting closer to the garrison where the city military patrols are stationed. 

He was a thief, and making eye contact with some uniformed personnel on their way urges him to flash his signature smirking smile-half mocking and half doused in bloodlust. The officers can only stare at him with aggrieved faces, as the guards holding him have no time to stop and dillydally with such trivial and common folks. Chrollo understood that there is some untouchable air these royal guards possess- as if boasting their direct line to the King himself, prominent in the weathered lines on their faces and the sharpness of their walk that speak of the mighty bricked walls of the impenetrable castle of the Kurta- where only the best and the bravest would be able to enter and be allowed permission to protect and serve the royal family.

He laughs to himself, not quite sure why he finds it amusing. If these people only knew that the palace isn't as daunting as they make it out to be, and that the defenses while impeccable, are not entirely unstoppable. 

Of course, he would know this. He was able to kill the former Queen and King while they were dining in the extravagant halls of the Banquet.

No one knew who it was.

As the view changes yet again, and his feet feeling more abused by the jagged rocks the rough land provided underneath, the garrison appears before him as a massive fortress of steel and iron. The walls stretch far beyond the view, arranged in asymmetrical blocks that appear to have multitude of purposes. It was understandably noisier in this part of town, with the trades and supplies constantly swarming the gates. He saw a huge golden Greek statue that was carried poorly by a man dressed in white, unwashed garments. 

"Spoils of war," the royal guard beside him who reeks of cigarette spoke loudly, probably hearing his thoughts. Smoke invaded their line of sight and they try to get a clear view of the narrow path they should be walking on, just beside the stationed inn for travelers that come to Saherta to make deals. "We have acquired lots of them during the raiding of Ryuseigai. You're from there aren't you?"

Chrollo nods his head, but doesn't stop or falter in his tracks as to not give away an ounce of his inner turmoil upon hearing the name of his homeland in another person's mouth.

The guard heaved while laughing as he spats on the ground. "I would have loved to see the look on your face as we killed your brethren.. those nasty bitches were strong, but not quite."

It was insulting to every part of his being but Chrollo has a highly developed bearing for completely shutting off himself to such crude and dismal remarks. Talk bores him, rather, he finds it more gratifying to slit a throat than listen to abysmally- constructed words. If he isn't bounded like this, he would have been picking at his ear while the guards can demean him in every way that they want.

And that's when he sees it. The parting of the crowd, the hurried shifting of feet as they try to scramble from one place to another- just to get a glimpse of something that has made their rounds and travel be put to an end. It was a sight to see, and the guards on both his sides stiffens quite considerably as hushed murmurs and whispers travel in a group of women's wake, carrying the news with their colored cloths and handkerchiefs.

" _It's the young King, isn't it?"_

_"Is it? Has he left the palace since his mother and father died?"_

_"He has fought valiantly in the Ryuseigai raid"_

_"They say his face is that of a lovechild of all the known gods of beauty, is it true?"_

Snippets of the words reach his ear- ranging from awed admiration for their king's nobility in both battle and arts, to the slightly sly remarks about his charm which insinuated a long thread of talk about his bed preferences among the women and men. It did not bother Chrollo one bit. Afterall, the king is a figurehead, the glory of the crown, one who has all the promises of loyalty, bravery, and honor all wrapped in magnanimous bright, jewel-gilded clothes. It was only understandable that it will all come with crass speculations.

It was all so banal. So mundane. Their worship makes no sense. They claim to fight for the sake of the Royal Crown with all their bravado and glorified battlecries and yet, at the end of the day, they were really only in it for themselves. And when the night comes, they would drag the king in their drunken conversations, gossiping to their heart's content and tearing him part by part for their own amusement.

Their is a voice that rang all across the space, announcing the arrival of the king. Chrollo was promptly pushed down on his knees, the impact probably giving him a deep scratch. The hooves of the horses got louder and stronger as the chattering concludes with elbows to the sides, and private smiles while poising their stance in an absolute surrendered manner. Suddenly, the busy picture the garrison has sported became a sea of bowed heads, all revering and exulting for the king who is currently arriving.

Then, like a rush of wind, the angel descends from the heavens.

He sees it first, as he isn't planning to keep his head down and miss the opportunity to look in the eye the object of much talk he has witnessed earlier.

Chrollo isn't particular about beauty- he has long given up on finding it everywhere. He has tried to search for it in the crevices of rock-fallen bodies of his comrades, he has tried to paint it with the view of the reddening sky as the sun sets and disappears in the midst of detritus of his home, has tried to acquire it from his deep sufferings and the bloodied traces of his hands trailing in the crystal blue lake. He has looked for it in the killings, and sparings, and all those sentimentalities life has mercifully provided him in intervals.

But he found none. There was no beauty in joy and suffering.

His hair is as yellow as the first few streams of light in the morning, just before dawn, and his eyes an impassive pool of gray- admonishing stare apparent and heightened with the strict implement of his back and the way he tightly wraps his fingers in the rein. There were no bannermen, nor a flush of guards trailing him. He doesn't need the excess proofs of royalty to proclaim his kingship. It was obvious with the strict yet graceful presence he exudes.

The descriptions of the people are not exaggerated- there is certainly a handful of backing in their words. It is as plain as the truth- the young king is beautiful.

There is a hint of hard -edged malice hidden in his eyes. Chrollo knew and have seen well enough than to be wooed with those demure lashes and aristocratic cheekbones. His breath catches in his throat but his mind is already working and analyzing what could be done to break this piece of hard steel swathed in porcelain clothes and blue sapphires.

"Is this the captured thief? The remainder of the Ryuseigai?" the king speaks with calculated regal flourish.

"Yes, Your Majesty. We would have the honor of bringing him to you in the halls of the palace. The King Tserriednich from the Kakin Empire provided him as a gift of appreciation for your alliance in the past war." the guards beside him bowed even lower, Chrollo is mildy surprised that their heads haven't toppled yet completely off their necks.

The golden king does not react to the latter remark, nor utter a praise to the generosity that Tserriednich bestowed him, instead choosing to knit his fine eyebrows in disdain. "Halls of the palace? Such scum doesn't belong there." 

"Your Majesty, we would gladly accept anything that you would want to do with this thief. Bring us our orders and we would do it with our lives at stake."

Superfluous words. Completely unnecessary flattery. Chrollo looks at the king with piqued interest.

"As a matter of fact, you could call me "a spoil of war" I believe you would like me even better than those dusty, useless statues." he smiled, hands gesturing at himself. It didn't take long for the guards to subdue him with harsh apprehension, his body hitting the ground with a loud thud.

"Forgive us for letting this vile-tongued ignorant dare breathe in your honorable presence, Your Majesty. Execution is what he will rightfully have, if you will desire it."

He smiles to himself. This is not the plan. The plan is to behave docilely and speak a few words only until they have reached the palace. But it was just too good to pass up. He wants to see if the calm exterior is just a front, or the extension of the genuinely vicious inner persona. 

The king sweeps him with a cool and brutal look. It was like taking in the sight of an unwanted gift. Chrollo could tell just as much that he is fighting an internal battle between killing him swiftly right here or enjoying his slow death in private quarters. The blue jewels in his clothing-all laced up and pleasantly sitting in his throat, glimmered as he turned his horse the other way.

"Spoils of war, but your value is not much, I have to be honest." he was speaking methodically to him- not a change in expression. "Have him brought to the palace, either way. I want him to bleed in front of my father and mother's grave." the king fixed him with a chilling glare. "I want him to bleed on my own sword."

There were appreciative hums from the audience, and Chrollo feels himself inhale a large mouthful of asphalt as he makes a show out of prostrating politely.

"So do I, Your Majesty" he hears himself say. "So do I."

**Author's Note:**

> So this will be pretty much explicit soon, i guess??? And lots of tension idk but hang on and bear w me
> 
> Also, the gen idea is that tsierred and chrollo are in thrall to bring kurapika down and in order to do it, chrollo needs to make sure kurapika will take him in as a companion of sorts- and then betray him later on


End file.
